


Hack Job

by trapper_john



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Haircuts, M/M, general goofiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 22:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trapper_john/pseuds/trapper_john
Summary: A rather suspicious set of circumstances and a supply room fiasco prompts Hawkeye to offer his services as a barber. Trapper is doubtful, and Frank manages to arrive at the worst moment, as he always does.





	Hack Job

“I’m a tactile person, I can’t help it.”

The clink and clatter of metal trays and ceramic mugs covered Trapper’s muttered response, and they both waited for the mess tent to quiet down before continuing their whispered conversation.

“Look, I’m sorry, I happen to like your hair a lot, and -” Their whispered conversation was interrupted once more by Radar taking a seat across from them. Absorbed in the mountain of food in front of him, he failed to notice the annoyed looks sent his way and began the task of clearing his tray.

Hawkeye exchanged glances with Trapper before clearing his throat. “Radar, is there something on your mind?”

“No,” was the mumbled response from behind a week-old chicken leg.

“Nobody’s stealing your lunch money?”

“No.”

“There’s no all-girl nude wrestling team you want to tell me about?”

Radar flushed at this but shook his head, focusing on opening his mouth wide enough to accommodate a double helping of mashed potatoes.

“Then would you mind giving the grown ups some alone time? I can’t concentrate when your tonsils are -”

The jab was cut off when Radar burst into muffled laughter, trying to hide his mouthful of food behind one hand. Scowling, Hawkeye followed his gaze to Trapper, who was flushing red and trying in vain to flatten his hair down. The fawn-colored curls, normally kept in place with nothing more than plain water and wishful thinking, looked like they had been through a summer storm.

“Cut it out, it’s not that funny!” Trapper ordered, sending a furious look to some nearby nurses who were starting to titter.

“I'm sorry sir,” said Radar, red faced from trying not to choke on food, “I'm sorry, it's just -” And he broke down into giggles all over again. Against his will, Hawkeye began to grin, much to the annoyance of his bunkie.

“Dammit Hawkeye!”

“Don’t yell at me, it’s not my fault you woke up looking like Isaac Newton!” Hawkeye exclaimed, more for the benefit of their cover than to profit off the hilarity.

Trapper growled and got up to leave, still trying to tame his snarled curls as he slammed his way out of the mess tent.

“Aw, c’mon!” said Hawkeye, and his part of the act finished, got up to follow, leaving Radar behind still helpless with giggles.

He managed to catch up with him halfway across the compound, where they walked in awkward silence until they reached the Swamp. Hawkeye opened the door for him with his usual jokey grin and bow, which were coolly ignored. Sighing, he followed Trapper inside and sat down next to the still, watching as Trapper frowned at himself in their shared shaving mirror.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, meaning it. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Trapper breathed a long sigh through his nose, then wet his hands in the enamel basin on top of the stove and began to set his hair to rights once more. “You didn’t embarrass me,” he said, but his tone told Hawkeye not to relax just yet. “Well, you didn’t today. And I’m not sayin’ I like being the butt of your jokes, don’t get me wrong.”

Hawkeye laughed in agreement, focusing on the short, quick movements of Trapper’s fingers. He’d always liked hands, and Trapper’s were the kind he liked the most; strong, skillful, broad at the knuckle and surprisingly gentle in their movements.

“But you gotta admit, this uh, this doesn’t look good.”

Snapped reluctantly out of his reverie, Hawkeye blinked. “What?”

“Hawk,” said Trapper, addressing his own reflection, “Two guys go into the supply shed, having made a big stink about doing inventory on this particular day at this particular time.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, the revelation dawning on him.

“Then two guys come out of the supply shed, both flushed, both with big stupid grins, and one with hair that would put Einstein to shame.”

“Gee, what is it about great scientists and their hair?” he asked with a smirk, then sobered. “Okay, I see what you mean. I’ll be more careful next time, alright?”

“Alright,” Trapper agreed, taking a seat on his bunk. He hesitated, then added, “Not that I don’t - y’know, that I don’t like it or anything -”

“Well I assumed, given how you were -”

“Yeah, I -”

They met each other's eyes, then looked away with embarrassed smiles and a quick laugh. Hawkeye got up and eyed his own reflection in the mirror hanging on the stove pipe, wondering if he really had been wearing a flush and a grin earlier. A dark shadow of stubble was covering his jaw, and given that Frank wasn’t around to scold him about it, forcing him to remain bearded out of spite, he decided to shave.

“I really didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said, and began to mix up a lather in a coffee mug. “My hair doesn’t do anything but sit up there.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll get you next time.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, and I’ll snap your comb, too,” said Trapper, settling back in his bunk with one boot propped up on a bag of unpacked laundry. “I can’t even use a damn comb.”

“Really?” asked Hawkeye, leaning to one side to see around the stove pipe.

Eyes closed, Trapper nodded. “Makes my head look like a cone full of cotton candy.”

“Huh,” said Hawkeye, and looked down at his shaving kit, giving the scissors a contemplative look. “Hey - would it help if your hair were shorter?”

“It’d help if you’d keep your hands restricted to the neck down.”

“No, really.”

There was a short pause as Trapper considered it, then opened his eyes and ran a hand through his hair to check the length. “Probably. I haven’t been to a barber since I got here.”

Delighted, Hawkeye set his razor aside and held up the scissors, snipping them in midair. “Hawkeye Pierce, your personal coiffeur.”

Trapper looked wary. “You?”

“Don’t look at me like that, I went with my dad to the barber all the time. Learning by example, right?” When Trapper still looked unsure, Hawkeye rolled his eyes. “C’mon, I used to cut my dorm mate's hair all the time.”

“I dunno Hawk.”

“I even cut my own hair! The back looked pretty bad but the front part was okay.” Hawkeye sat down next to him and gave him a nudge, putting on the crackle of a seasoned barber’s voice. “Well sonny, whaddayou want, a flattop? The ivy league? Duck’s ass?”

Trapper chuckled at that and shook his head, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, you can cut it. No duck’s ass though, just take off enough to keep it from doing a cloud imitation next time you get handsy.”

Triumphant, Hawkeye stood and dragged the chair next to the still into the middle of the tent. “Lucky for you, I’ve already got a barber’s chair. Have a seat sir, we’ll be right with you.”

Sighing, Trapper stood and settled into the chair, draping the nearest clean looking towel around his neck. “If you give me a crew cut, I’ll kill ya.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Hawkeye, “I need to leave enough for me to grab.”

“You're killin’ me.”

They both tensed as Hawkeye took a hank of hair between his fingers and made the cut in one swift movement. The shorn hair fell to the floor and Trapper pulled away to look at it.

“Well?” asked Hawkeye, feeling a trifle nervous. “Are you disfigured for life?”

Trapper leaned back in the chair once more and made a noncommittal grunt. “Looks okay.”

“Okay?” he pestered. “Are you sure you haven't been horribly maimed by my mad handiwork?”

“It's the army, who cares how you look anyway?” said Trapper, all the more confident for Hawkeye’s anxiety. They both knew he wouldn't be reckless when Trapper’s looks were concerned. “Chop away, Hawk.”

Hawkeye hmphed and went to work, paying special attention to the nape of the neck. It was surprising how easily the skill came back to him, dredging up old memories with it. He had forgotten how curiously intimate it was, touching and cutting another person’s hair, particularly another man’s. When he was with women, it seemed like they were always adjusting each other, tucking away stray hairs, offering barrettes and makeup and spare pins. They could afford to touch each other and display affection without being questioned, which he envied. It wasn’t a joke for them to put an arm around a friend, but a real gesture of fondness, a fondness that went unpunished. He could take Trapper’s arm, but only because he did it with a smirk and a quip.

“You’ve gone quiet back there, should I be worried?”

“Just concentrating. Here, tip your head back for a second.” Trapper did so, and he planted a kiss onto his forehead, eliciting a good natured groan.

He stepped back for a moment and eyed his progress, then took the shaving mirror off its nail and handed it to Trapper. “Any opinions so far?”

Trapper tilted his head back and forth, eyeing his reflection, then nodded. “Looks okay. Wanna give it a test drive?”

Grinning, Hawkeye set his scissors aside and plunged both hands into the thicket of Trapper’s hair, tugging and pulling and doing whatever he could think of to recreate the stormcloud from earlier that afternoon. When he was through, the result looked less stormy and more like a gentle breeze had gone by.

A little red faced, Trapper reached up and patted everything back into place with no trouble. “I think you can stand to take off a little bit more, just to be safe. But it looks good, Hawk. It’s no hack job.”

“So what do you think?” he asked, circling around the chair. Setting one knee in the space between Trapper’s open legs, he leaned forward into the chair and wound one hand deep into the freshly shorn hair.

Trapper raised an eyebrow at him, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “What do I think about what?”

Returning the smile, Hawkeye traced a thumb down the other’s cheek. “Am I good enough to be your personal barber?”

“Only if you don’t spend the whole time askin’ about my weekend plans,” he replied, one hand beginning to wander. “I can’t stand a chatty barber.”

“Oh, naturally. Unless, of course, sir needs something for the weekend.”

“Just add it onto my bill.”

A kiss added to the mix, slow and exhilarating. “There is the matter of my tip.”

“I’m sure we can work something out.”

“What are you two perverts doing?!”

They both froze, and where Hawkeye had his thumb pressed up against the side of Trapper’s neck, he could feel a pulse racing at a wild tempo. Within a span of a second he pulled out of the kiss they were locked in, taking in Trapper’s wide, panicked eyes, and reached past him to take up the scissors resting on the stove behind him. His back was to the door, and his shoulders, though narrow, were wide enough to cover up most of his sins.

“Shut up Frank, do you want me to cut off his nose on accident?” he demanded without turning his head. “Hold still, Trapper, dammit!” They were still far, far too close, but Trapper was already doing his part, squirming away with an exaggerated grimace.

“Back off, I’d rather it be uneven than have to deal with your breath in my face,” he snapped, knocking away the hand holding the scissors. “And watch it with those things, will ya?”

“Relax, I’m a doctor!”

“Doctor, huh! Next time I’ll get Radar to loan ya a pair of safety scissors.”

Frank, still in the doorway with his hands on his hips and an expression halfway between outraged and bewildered, looked between them in confusion. “Wh - what’s going on here, is what I want to know!”

Rolling his eyes, Trapper stood up and brushed himself off. “This moron already conned me outta two dollars for this hack job, and now he’s just short of getting a ruler out to make sure it’s an even hack job.”

“You said you wanted it to look good!” Hawkeye exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

“Well next time do your Jack the Ripper impression on somebody else!”

Performance over, they took their own version of bows. Hawkeye packed up his scissors and razor with a stormy expression, and Trapper hunkered down in his bunk, scowling at a copy of Stag.

Frank stared at each of them, and Hawkeye half expected to see puffs of smoke come out of his ears as he tried to figure out if he had seen what he thought he had seen. Finally, he let out a grunt of annoyance, fished something out of his footlocker, and left the way he came. Hawkeye let out a slow sigh of relief.

“I don’t know how you can pull that kinda thing off,” said Trapper, letting his magazine fall open on his chest. “I thought I was gonna pass out when I heard that nasally voice.”

“You? Swooning in my arms like Scarlett O’Hara?”

“Pass out or blow up, it was a tight race between the two.”

Hawkeye laughed and fell back on his bunk, feeling a bit lightheaded at the quickfire turn of events. “I’ve had a lot of experience being caught in, shall we say, less than favorable situations. You learn to think on your feet.”

“I guess,” said Trapper, shaking his head. “Damn! I really thought we were done for, for a second.”

“Me too.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, reflecting on their narrow escape, then Trapper turned to rest on one elbow and raised an eyebrow at Hawkeye. “So, shall we make another supply room inspection soon?”

“Oh really?”

“Sure,” said Trapper, raising his magazine once more with an expression that was almost smug. “Gotta take advantage of this haircut at some point.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for @foreverspellbound on tumblr! It took way longer than expected, but better late than never! I'm on tumblr as @trapper-john if you want to say hello :)


End file.
